


Baby, Bang It Up Inside

by Godspeed_Cowboy



Series: Dream Land [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Amnesia, Blood, Character Death, Death, Dreaming, Dreams, First Meetings, Gen, Haruno Sakura-centric, Hurt, I got inspired by "The Problem of Sakura" on here, I suppose that this is assisted suicide because, Implied Reincarnation, Killing, Love, M/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Mercy Killing, One-Sided Relationship, POV Haruno Sakura, Questions, Reincarnation, Sad, Short Friendship, Singing, Song - Freeform, Sort Of, Stages, Temporary Amnesia, Unrequited Love, dream - Freeform, dreamscape, dying, it's a great sakura centric story y'all should go and read it, listen to washing machine heart on loop while reading this pls, mindscape, one wants to die and the other helps them die, ropes, webs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godspeed_Cowboy/pseuds/Godspeed_Cowboy
Summary: A girl finds herself wandering an unknown land, only to hear something in the distance.A song, a voice.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Senju Tobirama, Implied Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara, One-sided Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: Dream Land [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906648
Kudos: 52





	Baby, Bang It Up Inside

**Author's Note:**

> A little reincarnation story with sad stuff in it! Hope y'all like!
> 
> Twitter: @YeehawMitski

The girl blinks her eyes open.

She’s standing somewhere . . . Pink. She can’t tell if it’s a room, because there are no borders but somehow she isn’t falling down further, but the place is most certainly pink. A nice shade, pale, kind of like salmon or cough medicine. And surrounding her, red ropes, bright. They’re like webs or nerves, decently sized segments coming together in knots before parting once more in different directions. She thinks that if she wanted to, she could fall back and rest in them and they’d catch her just fine, the ropes close enough. They’d cradle her like a cocoon.

The girl looks down at herself. She’s in a white nightgown, nothing fancy. No lace, no pattern, no little extras, nothing. Just short sleeves, stopping above the knees, and white. At least it’s a thick kind of fabric. She curls her hands into the fabric on the front as her face scrunches up, as she begins to turn this way and that, looking, watching. Her feet feel cold, no shoes or socks to cover them, and she rubs one of them against her leg.

There’s music coming from somewhere, feint. 

It’s singing, she realizes. Maybe someone could help her then?

The girl turns in the direction of it, that voice, and she begins to move through the ropes. It is not very hard to duck or jump through them. The voice gets closer, and it’s deep, melodic. She can’t tell what it’s singing, though. She continues to move through the ropes.

The voice gets louder. Eventually, she can make out words. An instrumental begins.

“ _Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart._ ”

Strange lyrics, she thinks, but somehow they make sense. Her heart skips once, twice, and something in the back of her head resonates with them.

“ _Baby, bang it up insi-ide._ ”

It makes her nod her head along with it. It sounds catchy.

“ _I’m not wearing my usual lipstick._ ”

She gets closer and the voice grows louder, clearer, and it echoes.

“ _I thought maybe we would kiss toni-ight_.”

She sees something in the distance and she quickens her pace.

_“Baby, will you kiss me already, and toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart._ ”

It sounds like she’s in a theatre, a stadium, listening to a concert. She’s getting even closer, and she can make out a figure on a stage made of wood, brown.

“ _Baby, bang it up insi-ide_.”

The girl starts to sprint, and the ropes begin to cluster, the gaps becoming smaller as the knots begin to multiply. The instrumental picks up, and she can see the figure swaying with it. Then the voice again.

“ _Baby, though I’ve closed my ey-ey-ey-eyes_.”

She trips over a rope, and she falls forward into the tangle. They’re made of something rough, and it hurts to land on. A wheeze leaves her throat as she begins to struggle out of it, twisting and turning her body this way and that.

“ _I know who you pretend I a-a-am_.”

She finds herself right side up, wiggling, and she feels one foot touch the ground again. Success!

“ _I know who you pretend I am_.”

She wiggles more, faster, more aggressively, and eventually, her other foot comes down. The rest is gravity’s work.

“ _But do mi ti . . ._ ”

She falls on her butt, and when she gets up she’s careful to avoid hitting her head on the ropes, or getting her hair tangled again.

“ _Why not me?_ ”

She moves slower now, making sure to actually maneuver around the ropes. 

“ _Why not me?_ ”

She can’t run through them anymore, now she has to walk, push them out of her way, even if they’re already pulled taut, stretched thin.

“ _Do mi ti . . ._ ”

The ropes grow thicker, the gaps even smaller, and she begins climbing. This doesn’t make any sense! She could see the figure, the singer, from afar. But now? She couldn’t even make them out, the ropes hiding them from her sight. 

“ _Why not me? Why no-ot me?_ ”

The fibers scrape against her bare skin. She’ll get rope burns no doubt. But she still climbs through them, grunting as she pulls herself along. Her hand nearly slips, misses the next one.

“ _Do mit ti . . ._ ”

There! In front of her! A gap she can pull herself through, if she just squeezes her body the right way.

“ _Why not me?_ ”

The girl reaches it in time, and she wiggles through. It takes a lot of effort but she gets through.

“ _Why not me . . .?_ ”

She falls to the ground in a heap. The ropes begin to move, and the gap closes. The instrumental picks up once more and she looks up. And gasps.

There is a man on the stage (and that stage, it’s not as big as she thought but not very small either), his eyes closed. He is frail, his bones far too visible to be healthy. He looks sick, his skin grey and his face tired. His hair was just as white as snow, and upon his face, red tattoos. Covering his body, a nightgown like hers, but black.

The song stops entirely, and there is silence. Beyond the ropes, though, she can make out the sound of a light wind, and if she tries hard enough, thunder.

What catches her attention are the ropes that fall from the ceiling (since when were they in a dome of ropes, what?) starting as one, and splitting into two bundles. They hold his arms above his head, wrapped around his fingers and circling all the way down his shoulders. They’re the sole thing that’s holding him up, his feet utterly useless from where they lay. And they stop . . . at his heart. Literally.

There is a hole that reveals it, the ropes melting into it like veins. And it’s barely moving.

The man’s eyes open and they’re brighter than the ropes, brighter than his heart. 

They’re beautiful.

And they land on her.

“ . . . Hello,” she says.

The man tilts his head, “Hello, child. Who are you?”

The question throws her off, even if it should not. She opens her mouth. Then closes it. She tries again, but again she closes it. Her eyebrows come together as her lips turn down. She looks at her hands, palms upwards now.

For all she’s worth, the girl cannot answer the man’s question.

Because she doesn’t know who she is, no name, no age or height, no favorite colors or foods, no memories, _nothing_. She knows absolutely _nothing_ pertaining to herself. So she answers him truthfully. 

“I . . . I don’t know.”

The man hums, looks her up and down.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

She shakes her head, and decides to ask a question in return.

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do,” he says with a smile, not offended by her query in the slightest, “I was waiting for somebody.”

She tilts her head, much like he did, “Who?”

“My lover . . . but . . .”

“But?” she pushes, leaning forward.

“But . . . I don’t think he’ll come. Ever.”

She leans back, blinks, and before she can stop herself, she asks, “Why?”

Her hands cover her mouth then, waiting for a rebuttal. She doesn’t get one.

“Well, I don’t think he’s mine anymore . . . I don’t think he has been for a _long_ while.”

The girl blinks, “. . . Was . . . Was that you? Singing, I mean?”

The man nods, “Yes. I was hoping he’d hear me. But I think he didn’t. I think he chose not to.”

She brings her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

“Why would he do that?” she asks.

“He grew bored of me.”

“Oh . . .” is all she can say. 

There is silence then, between the two. It’s uncomfortable now, but not because they made it so. If anything it just seems like the general air of the place. 

The man clears his throat, and the girl looks up.

“Child, can you . . . can you do me a favor?”

“. . . Sure,” she says, because neither of them have anything better to do.

“As you can see,” the man starts, “I do not look my best.”

She nods.

“That is because I’m dying.”

She bristles at that, at how he said it. He said it in a matter of fact kind of tone, like he’s accepted it already.

He probably has, who knows how long he’s been here.

“But at the same time, I physically can’t.”

She makes a confused sound, lifting her head from where she had it resting on her knees. He elaborates.

“These ropes. Do you see how they connect to my heart?”

She nods again.

“They are like my life blood, my veins, just as they are my love and my very heart.”

And his last sentence throws her for a loop.

“Will you cut them for me?”

“What!?” she chokes out.

He . . . He wants her to cut them? To _kill_ him?

“You heard me,” he says, “I want you to cut these ropes.”

“Are,” she starts, swallows because her mouth feels so dry suddenly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says, closing his eyes for all but a second before looking at her again, “I am sure. I have been suffering for too long. These ropes may look strong, tough, but they are mear threads when it comes to me, my life. They are the only thing keeping me from leaving this place, even though I’ve already lost all that mattered to me, all that I loved.”

She stares. He stares back.

“Will you do it for me? Will you help me?”

. . . Slowly, the girl nods, and stands, walking closer to the stage. She has to climb onto the stage, throw a leg on it to pull herself up. It takes little effort on her part. Then she gets closer to the man.

Even slumped over like this, she only comes up to his chest. He must be very tall when standing, then. The man’s breath is shallow, and not only are his heart beats weak, but they’re uneven as well. And it sounds like there’s something metallic inside it, the sound of something clinking together.

“. . . What’s your name?” she asks.

She’d like to know the man who will be dying by her hands.

“. . . You may call me Tobirama.”

Unsurprising to her, the name does not sound familiar nor does it spark any memories or thoughts. She nods at him.

“Ok, Tobirama, how do I do this?”

“Do you see the knife behind me?”

She looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, stuck in the wood of the stage, a small knife. 

“Yes,” she says.

“Grab it,” he says.

So she does, ducking around him, and crouching over it. It takes a minute or two to wiggle it free, the blade really stuck in there, before it comes loose at last after a particularly hard tug. It almost makes her fall backwards with the force of her pull. 

She stands back in front of Tobirama, knife in hand.

“What now?” she asks.

“Cut at what’s closest to my heart. And physics will do the rest.”

“Got it,” she says, and this time her nod is out of determination instead of agreement. 

There are about three ropes she needs to cut at, and the first one she grabs is at the bottom. 

It’s wet against her palms, her fingers, as she wraps a hand around it. And it feels soft, feels like meat. Very much unlike the rest of the rope. But she takes the knife and begins to saw away at it. Red drips down from it, down the knife and rope, between her fists and down her arms. 

It breaks away with a wet snap, and he sags towards the ground by a few inches. The heart beats faster, and moves much like a water balloon when you squish it. But his face looks relieved. She goes for the next rope, top right.

It’s a little harder to cut, but it cuts all the same. It parts with a wet snap like the last one, but this time, droplets come from it. Tobirama’s arms begin to slip from the ropes above as he sags lower. The heart’s beats become erratic.

“One more . . .” he whispers, and then he coughs, his eyes falling close.

“One more,” she repeats.

And she begins to cut at the last rope. 

It’s much harder than the last two, holding onto the heart for dear life. And this time, it leaks, steadily. The red begins to coat her arms, hands to elbows, and dripping onto her gown. 

But it gives in all the same. 

When it finally comes apart, it doesn’t stop leaking, but rather swings from side to side, staining the stage.

Tobirama slips from the ropes entirely, and had the girl not been there to catch him, he would have hurt his head.

She lets him down gently, and when they reach the floor, the man’s top half is in her lap, head against her shoulder. He sighs. His heart begins to slow. His eyes open and he looks up at her, lifting his head up with what little strength he has left.

“You can leave now, if you want to,” he says, “you don’t have to stay any longer.”

The girl hums, grabs his hand, the one furthest away from her body, and she pulls it over, holding it over Tobirama’s stomach.

“I know,” she says.

It wouldn’t feel right to leave him, to let him die alone. 

He seems to understand, and merely rests his head against her shoulder once more.

She doesn’t like the silence, so she starts to sing, quietly.

“ _Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart._ ”

The girl feels Tobirama flinch in surprise. She continues to sing.

“ _Baby, bang it up insi-ide._ ”

One of the Tobirama’s fingers begins to tap out the beat.

“ _I’m not wearing my usual lipstick._ ”

He smiles, she can feel it against her shoulder, the way his face moves.

“ _I thought maybe we would kiss toni-ight._ ”

And then his voice joins hers, gradually growing loud enough for her to hear.

“ _Baby, will you kiss me already and toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart_.”

She smiles with him.

“ _Baby, bang it up insi-ide._ ”

Around them, the ropes begin to snap, the knots coming undone, with every tap of the older man’s finger. Neither of them seem to care. If anything, it only acts as the instruments for the song. They keep signing.

“ _Baby, though I've closed my ey-ey-ey-eyes._ ”

The ropes creating the dome unravel, the hole starting at the top and growing bigger. 

“ _I know who you pretend I a-a-am._ ”

They hit the stage with heavy thunks.

“ _I know who you pretend I am._ ”

The ground begins to shake. They do not let their voices waver.

“ _But do mi ti . . ._ ”

The ground shakes harder, the ropes snap faster. Tobirama opens his eyes, but they’re unseeing. Blind.

“ _Why not me?_ ”

The stage starts to fall apart.

“ _Why not me?_ ”

The girl curls his body over his, protectively, and they still sing.

“ _Do mi ti . . ._ ”

The ropes hit her back then, and with the force of it she knows they’ll leave bruises. She grits her teeth but she still keeps singing with him.

“ _Why not me? Why no-ot me?_ ”

Tobirama’s heart begins to slow, the metal clinking becoming less and less.

“ _Do mi ti . . ._ ”

The red smears on both their bodies. The wood beneath finally collapses with the rest of the stage. They fall to the ground below roughly, but still in the same position.

“ _Why not me?_ ”

His finger stops tapping and his eyes close as his heart finally stops, and his last breath is used to sing the last note.

“ _Why not me . . .?_ ”

The ground stops shaking. The last of the ropes and stage falls. The girl raises her head. There are tears streaming down her face.

When she looks around, there is no sign of any ruin, no brown wood or red ropes. All there is is the pink void that’s been with them from the start. The only evidence that it really happened is the blood on her form and the body in her lap. She looks down at Tobirama.

He looks peaceful, as dead as he is. She brushes his hair out of his face.

There is a clang then from in front of her, and she tightens her hold on his body as she looks up, defensive.

It’s a mirror, long and framed with gold. Along its side, dragons that dance just a little over the rim.

She looks into its glass, squinting.

A boy with white hair and red eyes stares back, wearing the same clothes she does, covered in the same patterns of blood. In his lap, a woman with pink hair and a purple diamond on her forehead, just as blood covered, her eyes closed and her heart exposed, dressed in a black nightgown and lying in the same position as the body in her lap.

The girl and the boy gasp in unison.

Sakura’s eyes snap open as she shakes and takes in a breath of air as though she’s been holding it for too long.

She’s outside, she realizes, and the moon shines down on her from where she is. She shivers, looks down, and she’s in her pajamas, sweater and pants. She looks around.

She’s on the Hokage Rock, the sight familiar like the back of her hand. She looks down from the ledge she stands on.

The face of Lord Second looks over the village beneath her. She stumbles back from the ledge.

Sakura doesn’t want to think about what that dream meant. She rubs at her arms, a sudden chill coming over her as she runs, runs down the mountain, runs back home where her bed waits for her.

She doesn’t stop the entire way and she shoves the dream into the back of her mind, to save it for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> See y'all laterrrr byeeee


End file.
